


Anger Management

by Kendrene



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Make up sex, Nicole does cop stuff, Smut, mention of domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 23:57:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14200443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendrene/pseuds/Kendrene
Summary: A policeman's job is never easy, but there are a certain kind of calls that are harder than most. Nicole finds herself on one such call, and despite having promised herself she'll never let work follow her home, she finds herself obsessing over a case to the point she pushes Waverly away.But Waverly would understand, if only Nicole took the time to explain.ORThe one in which Nicole gets mad, Waverly gets grumpy, and they eventually make up.





	Anger Management

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I am very excited about this fic, particularly because it marks Thegaysmurf becoming my official, officially appointed beta! This work would be way less accurate without her advice and tips, especially when it comes to everything surrounding police work. Plus she let me borrow Ruthie!
> 
> She keeps me on track, and keeps me sane sometimes, and I could not, in all honesty ask for a better friend. Also, please go read her work, it's amazing!
> 
> Happy reading.
> 
> \- Dren

Nicole is sitting inside her patrol car, a napkin branded with  _ Deli-cious _ ’ logo spread across her lap, and she’s ready to take the first bite of a to-die-for turkey melt when the radio crackles to life. 

The signal is fuzzy with static this far away from downtown, the county line just over the next hill, but Ruthie’s voice coming through loses none of its urgency. 

“Unit 16, please respond.” 

Nicole drops her sandwich back inside the styrofoam container balanced on her knees and grabs a fresh napkin from the small reserve she keeps inside the glove compartment, wiping her greasy fingers on it before she flicks the channel open. 

“Unit 16 responding.” She swallows back a hint of irritation. It’s true she’d called in to be marked 10-7 only a handful of minutes before, but Ruthie would never cut her lunch short if it wasn’t important. 

_ Unlike some other people _ .

“We have a 10-16 in progress at the Hilltops Residential Complex, Apartment 24C.” A domestic disturbance. That explains why Ruthie’s voice is so tense. “I’m rerouting Millard and Todd, but you’re the closest one.” 

Nicole turns the key in the ignition, the Crown Victoria roaring back to life after a few sputtering noises. “10-4 Ruthie. I’m en route.” She pauses, carefully swerving the car one handed back towards town. “ETA 10 minutes.” 

She’ll stomp on the gas and try to shave time off of her estimate, but the roads aren’t particularly good this time of year. 

Ruthie knows it, too.

“10-4 Haught.” For a moment the car is filled by the hiss of static and then the old dispatcher adds, “Please be careful.” 

“Am I not always?” Nicole tries to ease the mood a little. 

“If only.” 

She can practically see Ruthie rolling her eyes back at the station, and a fond smile spreads across her lips. Nicole has nothing but respect for the retired deputy-turned-dispatcher, plus a healthy dose of cautious reverence. It’s never wise to be on Ruthie’s bad side, especially once she decides that you could use some mothering. Nicole doesn’t take the woman’s protectiveness as a questioning of her abilities - if anything, it warms her heart - and she knows for a fact that Ruthie does the same thing with Michaelson, who’s a year or two shy of retirement at most.

They agree on a status update once she’s at the scene, then Nicole switches the radio off, hands tightening around the steering wheel as she speeds up the road. 

The residential complex to which she’s headed - known colloquially as the Heights - is one of those national sponsored attempts at requalification. In Purgatory’s case, it meant finding the rise that’d offer the best view over the rest of town, and building overpriced apartments for the lucky few that could afford them. 

There’s not much of that sort in Purgatory - nor in the rest of the county for that matter - so the place has become a running joke among the town’s residents, the stylish apartments still mostly empty after years of being finished. 

Nicole remembers joking about it over a bowl of loaded nachos down at Shorty’s during one of the deputies’ get togethers that Todd routinely organizes - how the apartments were the perfect front for laundering dirty money. 

She can still recall the looks she had gotten from around the table. 

The road in front of her narrows to a strip of black asphalt fenced in on both sides by barbed wire. It’s late November, and the corn fields are brown and barren, only a few dried husks of the summer’s harvest dotting the ground. Come spring, the farmers’ tillers will bite into the rich soil again and start another cycle, but for now the rolling fields are the undisputed dominion of frost and deep shadow.

It’s already cold enough that a coat of white lingers at the edges of the meadows where hedges mark the borders of each farmer’s land and the sun doesn’t reach. 

The sight makes Nicole shiver, and she takes one hand off the wheel long enough to crank the car’s heating up a notch. 

_ You’re a southerner, girl. _

Her uncle’s voice, accent warm and rich like caramel, drifts across her thoughts, and Nicole smiles. Her mother had left America when she’d met her dad, who, according to Uncle William, had stolen her heart to take it north, but she had sent Nicole back during the summer whenever she could afford to, to learn about horses and help him with training them. 

_ You may live hundreds of miles away, girl, but Oklahoma’s in your heart and that’s all there is to it. _

Perhaps it had been the sight of the cornfields to bring him back in her thoughts, and the stories about how you were never supposed to look among the rows of corn because you never knew what would stare back. Nobody had been able to tell her what lived within the stalks exactly, but everyone agreed that you didn't want its attention.

Since coming to Purgatory, Nicole has learned there’s no need to avoid the cornfields here because evil things walk the streets in broad daylight. 

More often than not, she can do jack-all about them, too. 

Her thoughts remain grim for the duration of the drive, although it’s something to be expected, considering the kind of call she’s responding to. 

Domestic disturbances are never easy to deal with, their gravity never readily gauged. They can range from a nosy neighbor misinterpreting what’s clearly loud sex, to actual fights. Sometimes, either when the police get there too late, or one of the parties involved is particularly determined, they even end in murder. 

It doesn’t help that this is Nicole’s first call of that nature and, despite knowing that more experienced colleagues are also on their way to the scene, she can’t stop her stomach from rolling, the lack of food to settle it making her queasy. 

Because what they also teach at the Academy is that sometimes warring couples see the arrival of the cops as an intrusion, setting aside their quarrels to turn on law enforcement instead. 

_ Rather not get my skull cracked open by a frying pan. _

Nicole takes one hand off the wheel long enough to scrub at her eyes, and sighs. There’s no use working herself up before she gets there. Only ulcers, as Millard would put it. 

Steering her thoughts away, however, only works until the residential complex comes into view.

The cruiser struggles a little uphill, the morning’s leftover dew turned to a sheet of thin ice by the low temperature. They sky hangs lower now, a solid grey slate that perfectly matches Nicole’s soured mood, and she finds that she can’t wait to get to the top of the hill and out of her car. She’d start bouncing her leg from impatience if she wasn’t driving.

On the passenger seat, the turkey melt has grown increasingly cold during the short drive, its appetizing aroma turned to something that reminds her of grease and old sweat. 

_ Let’s hope the rich people have a dumpster.  _

Nicole is willing to drive back to the Precinct with the windows down after the call, if it’d help get rid of the smell.

With one last grunt of its straining engine, the Crown Victoria crests the hill, and Nicole takes her foot off the accelerator, letting the car roll along the apartment complex by inertia, head partially turned to check for the right apartment number. 

As she takes in the perfectly manicured lawns and the expensive cars parked outside some of the garages she drives by, Nicole finally narrows down the thing that’s irked her about this call since the beginning. 

It’s  _ the location _ . 

Nicole may be inexperienced, but she is not naive. Money doesn’t shield the rich from the hideousness they may carry inside, but it does help in keeping things quiet. Certain people prefer to solve disputes through lawyers that they pay upwards of $400 an hour, or - in the worst case scenario - they go directly to court. 

Police usually only get involved when things have become too ugly to be fixed any other way.

“24C. Here we go.” 

Nicole parks the cruiser and reaches for the Stetson she had tossed on the passenger seat when she’d gotten back from the deli. Now it smells of turkey, too, as does the rest of her clothes.

Her gaze travels up the building’s facade as she exits the car, and she comes close to rolling her eyes at the pretentiousness of it. The constructor may have dubbed it an apartment complex, but in truth, it’s a series of elegant two-story houses, each with its own entrance and fenced yard. 

She walks up to the gate, noticing it has been left ajar, and peers inside the yard. Whatever fight had been going on before she arrived is over, and no matter how much she strains her ears, Nicole can’t hear any sound coming from the house. 

She pushes the gate all the way open, checking her corners before she steps on the premises. The house’s front door is open, too, and a car must have left in a hurry, tire marks clearly visible on the asphalt of the driveway. 

No vehicles have crossed her path as she drove here, so whoever left must have done so a while back. Possibly as Ruthie was dispatching her. 

Nicole takes the Stetson off, scratching at her head and wondering if she should go inside. Technically she’s not supposed to, the guidelines are very clear on that, but the silence is getting to her - reassuring and nerve-wracking all at once.

Having made up her mind she walks back to the car and reaches through the window she left open, grabbing the radio’s receiver. 

“Ruthie, I’m 10-23, over.” 

“Copy that, Haught.” Ruthie’s voice is a bit stronger than it was before, the signal much better here than in the open fields. “Was starting to think you’d gotten lost or something.” 

Nicole plays with the brim of her hat, knowing that she’ll get an earful once she makes it back to the station. 

She should have updated her status the moment she’d parked the car at the scene, and she mentally kicks herself for a slip that’s so uncharacteristic for her. She’s not the perfect deputy by a long shot, having a lot left to learn regarding field work, but every time she puts on her uniform, she reminds herself to try the best she can. It had come as a kind of shock in the beginning, the discovery of how many things the Academy left a rookie completely unprepared for. 

Like many of her coursemates, Nicole had thought she was capable of handling most of the things that the job would throw her way, but Purgatory has proven time and time again it wasn’t the case. 

Outwardly, she gives people no sign it bothers her. She doesn’t share her fear of being inadequate - not even with Waverly - but she’s lost count of the times she’s broken down in the blissful solitude of her shower.

“I’m sorry I worried you.” Maybe it’s a breach of protocol, but she owes Ruthie an apology.

At the other end of the line, the woman harrumphs. 

“You can buy me breakfast tomorrow.” At that remark, Nicole’s lips twitch. She’s not forgiven, but Ruthie is letting her know that she  _ can be _ after a suitable offering. “Todd and Millard should be arriving shortly. Hold position until they do.”

As if summoned by Ruthie’s words, another cruiser appears at the end of the road, light bar flashing red and blue, but sirens off.

Todd barely has time to park behind Nicole’s vehicle before a third patrol car arrives, stopping a few meters from them. Perhaps attracted by the flashing lights - still visible, if a bit muted by the daylight - people have appeared, the seemingly empty neighborhood coming to life. 

Looking around, Nicole can see faces pressed at some of the windows, a few people even have their cell phones out, and one or two of the more adventurous residents have stepped outside their homes to get a better look. 

_ Wonder which one called it in? _

“Hey, Haught.” Todd touches the brim of her hat in greeting. “Status?” 

“House is quiet. Almost too quiet, if you know what I mean.” She shrugs.

They exchange a knowing look, and Todd nods. Nicole doesn’t know if this kind of instinct is something everyone is born with, or if police training brings it out in people, but she’s been on several calls now where buildings that by all accounts should have been vacant, turned out not to be. 

There is a definite sense of emptiness hanging around the house - she can feel it even standing on the curb - but it’s the sort of sensation that makes her hackles rise. 

“Let’s go and have a look.” Todd unholsters her gun. “Millard can stay here and play shepherd.” 

Nicole raises an eyebrow, not completely sure what Todd means by that, but when she glances back toward the street, she notices that a small group of people has gathered to watch the proceedings. Millard is facing them and, judging from his stance, he’s none too happy about it. He’s taken off his hat, making shooing motions whenever somebody tries to get too close, and he looks for all the world like he’s herding a bunch of sheep.

Under different circumstances, Nicole would laugh.

“Take the lead?” She lets her hand fall to the milled grip of her sidearm, her heart rate spiking up so sharply that she feels it beat against the metal through the palm of her hand. Her skin is clammy with cold sweat, but Nicole refrains from wiping it on her fabric of her pants, aware that Todd is watching her closely. 

Todd nods again, raising her pistol and advancing at a jog to the house’s open door. She presses one shoulder against the wall on the door’s left, Nicole taking the right, and they exchange another look before the more experienced deputy rolls off the wall and steps inside.

They find her in the living room, among a mess of torn furniture and broken glass. 

Someone - possibly the same person that left the tire marks outside - has thrown a chair through the french doors that give access to a fenced backyard, smashing them. 

Glass crunches under their boots as they enter the room, lowering their weapons to the floor. More shards have landed like a layer of dust over the couch on which the woman is sitting, and they gleam weakly in the afternoon light.

Between the two of them, they have made enough noise to be noticed, but the woman doesn’t even look up when they approach. 

She sits with her legs tucked under her butt, back pressed so hard against the back of the couch she looks like she’s trying to merge with it. Every now and then, she hugs her upper arms and rocks forward, tiny whimpers falling from her lips,

Cold air seeps in through the broken window, making Nicole shiver despite her heavy jacket, and the woman, who is wearing nothing beyond pajama pants and a blood spattered t-shirt, must be freezing. 

“Ma’am?” 

At Todd’s nod of agreement, Nicole steps forward, shrugging out of her jacket and crouching next to the couch. 

“Ma’am, can I put my jacket around your shoulders?” 

Nicole keeps her voice to a low register, slipping into the same soothing cadence her uncle had taught her to use with a spooked horse. A bit of the Oklahoma accent she’s mostly lost - having lived the majority of her life in Canada - resurfaces, and her voice, which is soft to begin with, mellows further.

The woman is looking at her now, grey eyes watery with fear, and Nicole simply holds the jacket out, waiting for her to decide whether she wants to take her up on the offer or not.

Just when Nicole has started to think she won’t get an answer, the woman finds the strength to speak up.

“Thank you.” Her voice is reedy, strained by the tears she’s trying not to cry, and her mouth barely moves, blood dripping down her chin from a split lip. 

Nicole’s jacket draped around her shoulders only makes her look more fragile, but at least she isn't shivering so badly anymore. 

“Ma’am, I have to ask, is there someone else in here with you?” 

The woman shakes her head wordlessly, and Todd - who just rejoined them after completing their sweep - gives Nicole a confirmatory thumbs up. Normally they would have cleared the house together, but having found the woman almost immediately, Todd had made the executive decision of finishing the sweep alone while Nicole assessed the victim’s condition.

It’s not a by-the-book operation, but Nicole has learned to trust her colleague when it comes to things like this. Todd is level-headed, and would never do something to put them in danger.

Her fellow deputy picks up a photograph from a nearby table, angling it toward the couch.

“Your husband?”

A tense nod. 

Nicole wonders when the picture had been taken. The couple looks happy in it, smiling and suntanned on a beach. Their honeymoon, perhaps. 

“He left. He-”

The woman shivers again, and stops talking, lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes dart around the room, full of fear, as if she’s expecting her man to be back any second. 

“It’s alright, ma’am, you don't have to tell us everything right away.” Todd puts the picture down and gives her a genuine smile. She holds her hands open at her sides, where the woman can see them, and despite being a few inches taller than Nicole, she manages to look non-threatening. “Why don't you let me and Officer Haught get you to a doctor to start with? And then, if you want, you can give us a statement.”

They had been called out, and would have to file a report, so the woman would have to offer a statement whether she wanted or not. What she would say however, is up to her. 

Following her directions, Nicole recovers a pair of running shoes so that they can walk her out of the house without her risking a cut on the broken glass. 

When they make it outside, one of them on each side of the woman, they find Millard where they left him. Even with his back to them, he looks annoyed, and they’ll hear plenty of complaining when they get back to the bullpen.

Nicole opens the back door of her cruiser, standing aside as Todd helps the woman to take a seat inside. 

“No ma’am, you’re not under arrest.” She hears the deputy say in reply to a question. “We just can’t have civilians riding up front. Regulations and all that.” 

Once the woman is securely inside her car, Todd touches Nicole’s elbow, and they move a few paces away to talk. 

“You’re alright taking her to the hospital?” Todd asks. “I’ll disperse the sheep with Millard and will be right behind you.” 

“Sure. No problem.” Nicole throws a look to the car. The woman has slumped forward in her seat, eyes trained on her lap. “Should I try and ask what happened?” 

“Just leave it for now.” Todd is idly playing with her belt’s buckle. “Perhaps just being out of the house will make her open up. Anyway, we can’t really use whatever she tells you until we sit her down and get an official statement at the station.” 

They don’t waste time speculating on the exact facts, and while Nicole always tries to keep an open mind, the chain of events is sort of obvious in this case. 

She lets Todd go to Millard and checks on her passenger one last time before getting in the car. 

Nicole slides into the driver’s seat, pulling the car’s door closed as she sits down. It shuts with a slam, and in the backseat, the woman’s shoulders jerk. If it wasn’t for the cramped confines of the cruiser, Nicole thinks that she would try to run. 

A sour taste fills her mouth. 

**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on TUMBLR for more stories and exclusive content](https://kendrene.tumblr.com/)


End file.
